I, Dragonborn
by The Dark Duran
Summary: Like an ember, we fall. We live only to burn and fade away. But she was meant for something more. "Even if you've fallen, I will follow you under." [Femslash. F!DB/Lydia/Aela/Serana.]


The Legend of Kouya

_Long ago, Dragons soared the skies, tearing through humanity with fire and brimstone. _

_Only the Dragonborn – Gifted with the power of the Voice, could harness the words of the Dov and bring peace to the world._

_The dragons have come back, and with the Dragonblood gone, only one can stand to bring balance once more..._

_She is, Dovahkiin!_

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"You. Who are you?"

No answer. An impatient grunt.

"A Breton. What's your name?"

No response again. The Imperial soldier shifted in place.

"Speak. Before I make you." His voice raised.

Another moment of silence, and he lunged forward, fist clenching the hooded figure's shirt.

"Listen to me, traitorous dustbag. We can make this painless, or slow and agoni-"

His vision disappeared into blackness as a sudden force butted straight into his head.

The headbutt was so strong that it sent the Imperial sprawling to the ground, and the remaining soldiers began to viciously beat the figure into submission. They had no hope to resist, as their hands were bound by tight, iron shackles. The female Imperial captain, short of temperament, kept arms crossed with a face bound in sternness as she watched the soldiers' endeavors barely keep the rambunctious victim down. One man slipped and fell into the dirt at the captive's feet. He looked up against the sunlight, and was blinded before he could see the figure's face as his own was bitten into. Dull molars crunched the fragile bones as blood spewed and the soldier's gutteral screams caused some men to back away.

He was locked in the captive's ravenous hold, teeth continuing to knaw into his flesh and bones until a vicious burst of pain surged into their head. They were forced to release the man who stumbled pathetically away, screaming and crawling, his blood trailing the dirt in a stream from his face.

The Imperial woman lowered the steel club back to her side. She stood above the downed figure, her shadow overcoming them. Stern hazel eyes bore into the hooded figure, who seethed silently on the ground as a dark spot grew atop their brown hood. The soldier persisted in her stare, hearing the earlier fallen Imperial begin to finally stir.

"..Eugh...Captain...she's not on the list...what should we do..?"

The Captain remained, eyes never leaving their place as the group of men once again fought to hold up the prisoner's body and keep her still. One of them gripped harshly onto the hood and pulled her head up to the sunlight. Only the brim of the hood kept the growling prisoner's face in shadow.

There was a moment of silence, before the Captain turned her back to the prisoner.

"We have our orders. Put her with the others... she won't be missed."

The soldier then tore down the captive's hood. Two brilliant amber orbs, bordering a color of pure gold, gleamed intensely and menacing at the Captain's back. Teeth bared bloodied and dripping blood down her chin, and red splotches marked the woman's white complexion. Short, dark auburn hair bristled into a fauxhawk, messed and dirtied. A deep scar ran just below her left eye down her cheek, joined by three lines of crimson warpaint.

The man lifted himself, emitting a loud sigh before going back to his parchment and then gazing at her again. "Sorry kid...just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just take some comfort knowing you'll die serving the Empire. Any last words before the execution?"

Silence permeated the air. The executioner watched through his black coif in anticipation.

"...Yeah." Golden eyes burned viciously into the executioner's opposing gaze, then back to the Imperial. "Don't call me a kid."

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

The sky was a crisp, cerulean blue and the gleaming sun emitted its warming glow onto the citizens of Whiterun Hold. Across the mighty plains, soothing breezes cooed over the plots of farmland and plants that had grown scant across the subtle hills. The air was fresh and mingled with the crisp scent of cooking meats and pastries that permeated even through the trees that lined the mountains' edge. Small smoke stacks rose to the sky from the scattered ranches, shops, and within the great wall that enclosed a small and peaceful society. Within the stone breaches, lazy guards leaned idly into their posts atop the walls, either sleeping standing up, mindlessly twirling their swords or slugging down bottles of mead at a time. To some the display would be deemed shameful, but as hardly any hostility had found itself in Whiterun since the last Winter, even the Jarl himself hadn't paid too much mind to their listlessness. A drinking guard was a happy guard, and a happy guard doesn't get up the Jarl's ass for a raise in pay he didn't deserve.

Jarl Balgruuf, a man of renown and fairness, loved his people. He happily sat atop one of the greatest Holds in Skyrim, his daily regimen consisting primarily of trivial pleas he had no quarrel in granting. And it made the inhabitants of Skyrim all the more happier under his care. The daily Watch very little complained at him these days, since most of the time they just drank themselves stupid and exchanged shifts in between naps and meals. For the extension of peace they were granted, his greatest concern at present were constant naggings about the preacher who advocated his religion incessantly in front of the Talos statue. Even though the Empire had banned all worship of Talos, the Jarl was eternally supportive of the Nords and did his best in looking the other way. But to be dragged out to such an extent, he found ridiculous.

How fortunate of Olfrid Battle-Born to come vociferating all over Dragonsreach about it for the hundredth time.

"You can't seriously believe _anyone_ would give you grief for exiling that madman, my Jarl!" Olfrid's boisterous voice bounced off the echoing chamber walls. The light coming in from the small windows of the hall draped across the Jarl's face handsomely, his few wrinkles pinching against his eyes and on his brow as he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Battle-Born if I've told you once I've told you a hundred times..." Jarl Balgruuf sighed with his eyes shut. The stress this man of wealth managed to accumulate for such petty things was beyond him. "I will _not _needlessly banish a man under my Hold just because you all find him moderately agitating. He is not hurting anyone and keeps to himself. Have any of you even _tried _negotiating with him personally?" He hunched his shoulders forward in an exasperated movement.

"Oh, you can bet to Oblivion I have. I've nearly caught myself proposing allegiance to those squabbling Grey-Mane dogs to spend days impeaching that loudmouth out of his damned perch."

Oh, and if he had to listen to either expostulations from either the Battle-Borns or Grey-Manes, by Gods he was ready to rip off his cloak and bend his elbow at them all as he walked out.

"I can understand your impatience, Olfrid," He rolled his eyes as his speech drolled, having said it too many times to count or care. "but I am under oath, my contract as Jarl, to uphold justice in the names of _all _my citizens, now will you please get off my back.." He had nearly whined the end of his words, his rough hand running down his face. He truly loved his citizens, but there were always times he couldn't stand the reasons they bothered him.

"Now, you know _very _well this won't be the last of me, Jarl. Just remember, there's a lot in it for ya to help us out..." The skeeverish way he grinned always made the Jarl uncomfortable. And he always expressed this look when attempting to bribe the man with his prominent wealth. The Jarl would be an even richer man by now, if only he could just be an asshole this _one_ time. _Oh, but my heart is as soft as my ass has gotten on this throne..._he mused silently, sighing as he leaned back into his great chair and heard the great doors shift open and shut loudly.

Balgruuf elicited another sigh before massaging one of his temples. Small footsteps could be heard echoing through the halls as they came closer to the Jarl's ears, and in came a small, thin boy with dark hair striding toward him in an excited sprint.

"Father! Can I go training with Lydia on the upper porch?" The boy's voice rung incredulously loud in his ears, causing him to grunt indifferently and wave his hand by the boy.

"Yes, yes, Frothar. Go on now..." He trailed off a bit, his lidded eyes seeming to space just before they shot wide open, and his head spun in the direction of his quickly departing son.

"Frothar! You best be careful, boy! Put your armor on, remember to..." A long, heavy sigh as he ran his hand along to smooth his silver hair. He had stood to yell up the steps towards his quarters to his son, and now stood with a hand over his chest, clutching at his heart. "That child will be the death of me..." He groaned, both for the love of his kin and the stress they placed upon him in their childish ignorance.

* * *

Greatsword in hand, a fit young Nordic woman skillfully twirled her weapon with a look of undaunted focus. With each pivot of her feet, her sleek steel armor flickered brilliantly under the high sun, and the greatsword whispered through the air with each powerful swipe. Each movement was brutal, but controlled, and in her stance her brilliant cerulean eyes dilated in a way that amplified her concentration. Gentle puffs of breath left her mouth as she could just begin to feel herself wear down; she had been training since she woke that day, not really even stopping by the dining hall to grab her usual wedge of cheese and sweet roll. Miniscule beads of sweat had just begun to form by her temples, gently trailing down her pale skin to her chin. Holding out her blade before her, a small cry echoed through the upper deck and disrupted the silence, forcing her gaze on Frothar who came sprinting up to her in a loosely crafted set of leather armor.

"Lydia! Father said I could train with you!" His energetic hollering brought a weary smile to Lydia's face. She wiped the forming sweat away from her brow with her arm and swiftly sheathed the greatsword to her back.

"Did he finally? Good to see he's been loosening up a bit." A warm smile rested into her features as she leaned down onto one knee, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Care to start with some sparring?" She asked and was answered with an eager nod that made her chuckle lightly.

"Alright then, let's see how well you've been practicing."

* * *

And they had done so for some time, the young boy's chest beginning to slightly heave as he struck Lydia's palms with his fists. The tiny impacts would make Lydia chuckle normally, but she was playing a serious face of determination in hopes of sparking motivation in the little one. She believed that even at Frothar's age, the art of combat was nothing to joke about.

"Did you hear about the dragons, Lydia?" Frothar exasperated through short breaths. The question brought Lydia's brow inward as she stared at the boy.

"Dragons?" It was the only thing she could muster as her voice seemed to go quiet.

"Father said a strong warrior and an orc came here saying they saw a dragon! Irileth went with them to go fight one at the watch tower...Man, one day I wanna be the one leading marches to go hunting dragons! I'd jump on it's wing and stab a blade right through it's eye! Like this!"

As the boy made his display of impaling an imaginary dragon's eyeball and his battalion bellowing in pseudo victory, Lydia had receded slightly into herself in anxious thought. Dragons hadn't been _heard of_ in hundreds of years, let alone seen. But now talk of a dragon attacking the watch tower? She looked up at the young man, her mind convincing her it was merely the boy's faltered eavesdropping, and whatever had been discussed, he more than likely took out of context. Lydia exerted a relieving sigh before resting her hand on the boy again. "Easy there. Now I'm sure you're just misunderstanding what you heard. Dragons have been gone for a long time, Frothar. Don't go getting yourself in trouble with rumors like that. Or you'll have to answer to _me._"

Lydia chuckled as she pulled the boy into her, rubbing her knuckles softly into the boy's head as he laughed and squirmed wildly in her other arm. "Y-Yeah, I guess you're right, Lydia. Even Father didn't sound too worried about it. And they left a long time ago, so they should have been back by now right?"

"Knowing Irileth, she probably dispatched the lot of them for saying your father had falmer breath."

The two of them both began to chuckle, turning into blown out laughter that had Frothar on his back and Lydia wiping tears from her cheeks. Their mutual mirth was quickly sated however, when a screeching sound of the giant porch doors slamming shut echoed against the walls and a harsh, reprimanding voice cut the air.

"You shouldn't encourage the young one's bad manners, _soldier_." Irileth's hardened expression cast a coldness over Lydia that had almost made her too frigid to stand and bow.

"Ah...forgive me, Housecarl Irileth. It wasn't my intention to-"

"Cut your graveling, soldier. I have something important to bring to your attention."

Frothar had taken a hiding place behind the tall Nordic woman's legs and peeked out from behind her. Lydia's eyes caught the intensity of Irileth's gaze, which would have been a normalcy, but something in the air just didn't feel right to her.

"A dragon has incapacitated Helgen, and has been reported to nearing Riverwood."

While the dunmer's voice kept level and her composure unphased, Lydia's body felt like it wanted to coil into itself. Dragons? It wasn't a rumor began by a curious child, but now a full reality, already parading destruction through Skyrim. With a subtle gulp she focused her senses and nodded for Irileth to continue.

"The Jarl had sent me to investigate a scout's report on the destroyed watch tower. Two warriors came to Dragonsreach with the news and followed to investigate. The threat is real. The dragon that attacked the tower swooped down on us from the mountains, but the warriors and our archers took it down." Her face contorted slightly, as if debating something to herself, before she met Lydia's gaze again. "I am coming to you with this information, because the warrior who bested the beast has been claimed Thane of Whiterun by order of the Jarl. As such, you have been appointed their new Housecarl."

It felt like a tempest in Lydia's chest. She didn't know how to manage so many emotions at once. Fear, anxiety, happiness, confusion, it all left her standing there in a dumbfounded stupor. Her eyes could see the elf beginning to grimace in impatience, so she mindlessly nodded.

"You understand then? You should gather whatever items you deem necessary to bring. The Thane has left and will return later, then it will be your time to accompany them."

Frothat had moved to Lydia's side, and looked up at her with the saddest gaze not even a puppy could compete with. Lydia forced herself to meet his eyes and nearly groaned at the sadness she felt from him. She turned her head back, raising a fist to her chest as she bowed slowly. "I'll be ready soon, Irileth."

The housecarl responded with a curt nod, before she marched back toward the large porch gates.

Lydia lifted herself and watched the elf disappear behind the giant doors before giving in to a loud sigh, going down onto one knee and placing a hand softly atop Frothar's head. "Now now, there will always come a time where you have to be strong, Frothar. Just because I am leaving doesn't mean I'm gone forever."

He couldn't keep back the sniff that threatened his nose as water crept into his reddening eyes. "Y...You're gonna come visit me right? And spar with me still?"

Lydia wanted to frown at her uncertainty, but needed to keep a smile and determined expression as she held out her other hand. "You can count on it, soldier."

It was enough to bring a smile to the boy's face as he put his hand in hers, and they exchanged a strong handshake before Lydia stood and ruffled Frothar's hair.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, little one." She brought her gaze away from the boy, to look up at the awaiting porch gate. "...I have a Thane to prepare for."

Cerulean eyes shot wide open as a sudden sensation overpowered her. It sounded as if lightning had cracked and struck right in front of her, and a shift in the air sent an icy wave over her whole body. Something in the pit of her stomach burned intensely, and in instinct her hand went for the hilt of her greatsword.

_The dragon is here._

Pivoting on her feat, she ripped the blade from its sheath and turned to face the bare sky, awaiting the colossal danger that could very well be there. Expecting to meet the blazing eyes of an ancient killer, she was instead met with a dark formation of clouds, that swirled like a typhoon over the tallest mountain in all of Skyrim. Brilliant blue eyes stared into the depths of the sky, feeling something, _peculiar_. Something that pulled her forth, it called to her...

"What was that, Lydia? It was really loud..." Frothar groaned as he brought his hands down from his ears, using a finger to poke into one of them.

"I...am not sure." The tip of her sword touched the floor softly as she lowered her weapon, still entranced by the force that almost seemed to be whispering into the very air she breathed.

It could not be. It _should_ not be. But by every plane in Oblivion, it was.

She could not unhear it, the echo was clearer now. The whispers nearly froze her in place.

They called, _Dovahkiin._


End file.
